


nothing gold can stay

by aliatori



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Awkward Flirting, Background Relationships, First Kiss, Fluff, Gift Giving, M/M, Magic-Users, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reunions, Sparring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-15 03:52:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18490774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliatori/pseuds/aliatori
Summary: When earthshifter Gladio visits the flourishing, modern Kingdom of Lucis, things don't go quite as he expects.





	1. first steps on foreign shores

**Author's Note:**

> **This fic is a re-upload of previously published fics in the series "nothing gold can stay", consolidated into one continuous, multi-chapter story.** Content from chapter four onward is new. Thanks for understanding!
> 
> as originally requested by [jae-seok-soo on Tumblr](https://jae-seok-soo.tumblr.com/)

It’s nice to be back on land.

Not that Gladio has much to complain about in the grand scheme of things. The voyage to the Crown City—his home away from home, now—had been pleasant enough, but so many days spent tossed about the mercurial, mutable ocean left a dull ache in his spirit. Gladio’s an earthshifter—one of best, in fact, and why he moved in the first place—but he knows it colours his perception; he recognizes the boundless power that fills the vast expanse of the ocean, but it’s far too _unstable_ for his liking.

Give him the pulse of the earth pounding in time with his own like a primal heartbeat. Give him the solid, unshakeable connection extending far beyond the reach of his power. Give him the neverending comfort of his feet on solid ground, of his hands buried in warm, loamy soil, and of shaping the earth with his magic.

Hah. Look at him, waxing poetic and lost in his thoughts. Gladio almost doesn’t see the signpost for the street he needs, but he catches it at the last second, doubling back and making his way down the bustling road.

Today’s errand involves buying plants for his spacious-but-empty apartment. Gladio didn’t realize how much he’d miss the quiet, subterranean house he left behind, complete with as much greenery as he could feasibly take care of to liven up the space. The prince himself had recommended a store in Insomnia’s commerce district, _Botanica Magica_ , owned by ‘one of the most talented hedge witches in the Crown City’, or so Noctis claimed.

While the walk is relatively short compared to the sprawling, all day strolls Gladio enjoys taking, the day is hot, and the combination of sun and exertion makes him start to sweat, liquid beads rolling down his back in warm rivulets. If he makes any purchases, it’ll be an even longer walk home, but the chance to stretch his legs—even in the city—is a welcome one.

 _Botanica Magica_ sticks out like a sore thumb… or a green thumb, which is probably more appropriate given the way Gladio’s eyes are drawn to the vibrant emerald foliage covering the shop. Tiny yellow blossoms clustered on a wooden signpost out front spell the store's name, confirming Gladio’s initial guess that this is the place he wants. The hedge witch (or so Gladio suspects) has cultivated a miniature, perfect garden at the front of the store, leaving only a cobblestone walkway leading to the door free of flowers. Gladio nearly jumps out of his skin when two massive, six pointed lilies, one on either side of him, bloom to life as he reaches the door.

Nice touch.

If Gladio thought the outside marvellous, the inside proves nothing short of a botanical wonderland. He has three breaths to take it all in before a thorny vine whips towards his face; only reflexes developed through many years of combat training save him from what promises to be a nasty gash.

“That’s _enough_!” a clipped, male voice calls from deeper in the shop. As soon as he speaks, the vine quiets, curling into a dormant position along the wall. There are staccato footsteps, progressively louder, and then the owner of the voice comes into view.

He’s… in a word, alluring. He’s dressed prim and proper like most Lucians, buttoned up shirt and slacks pressed into creases sharp enough to cut, but smudges of dirt dot the lime coloured apron he wears. Even the shock of styled hair, a mini, ash blonde mountain peak above his forehead, isn’t enough to detract from his two most arresting features—the bright, luminous, _swirling_ emerald of his eyes behind a pair of glasses, and the pale web of pastel green tattoos that cover his exposed forearms.

“My sincerest apologies. Afternoons here tend to be rather quiet, and I’m afraid some of my charges are still too quick to react to my distress,” the man explains as he approaches Gladio. He smells like sunlight and the promise of ice cold _spiratea_ at the end of a hard day’s work. “Are you alright?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine… thanks,” Gladio says, suddenly a touch embarrassed to have forgotten his manners. “Sorry if I disturbed you.”

Those eyes shift like quicksand, slow and languid, as the man studies Gladio. “You’ve no need to be sorry. This is a business, after all, and I’d be a poor proprietor if I turned away good custom.” His gaze cuts to the vine, sheepishly—if a plant can be sheepish—curled against the wall. “You and I will talk _later_.”

The sternness draws a chuckle out of Gladio. “I’m guessing you’re the hedge witch I’m lookin’ for, then.”

“I am indeed. Ignis Scientia, owner of Botanica Magic, at your service.”

There’s an awkward shuffle where Ignis bows and Gladio extends his hand at the same time, forgetting that he’s in Lucis and handclasps aren’t the way of things, before letting his hand fall back to his side. Ignis rises and studies Gladio, taking him in from the shaved sides of his hair down to his calloused, bare feet.

“What business brings an earth elementalist to a hedge witches shop?”

Gladio laughs again, louder this time. “What gave it away? The height, the build, or the lack of shoes?”

Ignis smiles at Gladio like the two of them are in on some delicious secret together, and Gladio’s pulse quickens. “Your energy, actually. All of the earth elementalists I’ve met have this…” he flaps a hand nonchalantly as he searches for the word, “aura about them, like the epicentre of an earthquake given physical form. However, the bare feet were a close second.”

Gladio _likes_ this guy, and not just because he’s the most captivating thing he’s seen since he arrived in Lucis. “I’ll take it as a compliment. You can just say earthshifter, though. Or Gladio, since that’s my name.”

“Gladio.” Ignis rolls the word over his tongue, gemstone eyes roiling like a whirlpool, and smiles again. “Very well. How may I help you, Gladio?”

“I was aimin’ to buy some plants. You know, liven up the new apartment, give it some life?”

It’s Ignis’ turn to laugh, rich and deep and knowing. “Well, that’s certainly a service I can provide. Come—I’ll show you some of my favourites that are in need of a home.”

The variety astounds Gladio. Ignis guides him along the walls, stopping to point out each flower or shrub or succulent available, explaining a little about them as he does. (Gladio already knows most of them, of course, but hearing Ignis explain them in his wonderful baritone is a treat all in itself.) Gladio points out a few he’s interested in; Ignis notes the selections with a curt nod, tapping his finger on the plants indicated and marking them with a tiny, hovering orb of light.

When they reach a cluster of gossamer lavender blossoms that Gladio doesn’t recognize, he asks about them immediately.

“Ah,” Ignis says with a chuckle, ghosting his fingers across the wraith-like petals, “these aren’t available, unfortunately. Maybe someday I’ll bear to part with them, but for now…”

The affection so clearly written across Ignis’s features as he regards the blooms melts something deep inside Gladio’s chest. “Yeah. I think you’re beautiful.” Too late he realizes his error and quickly tries to correct it. “I mean, shit… I think _it’s_ beautiful.” Gladio can feel warmth flooding his cheeks.

Ignis inclines his head, a smile playing about his lips. “We both appreciate the compliment.”

The rest of the shopping trip goes uneventfully, though Ignis’s Lucian formality begins to deteriorate in a pleasant way after Gladio’s slip of the tongue. By the time they’re finished, Gladio has picked out enough plants to cover his apartment and significantly lighten his purse.

“Do you have the means of transportation to see them all safely home?” Ignis asks after accepting Gladio’s gil.

Gladio knew he was forgetting something. He rakes a hand through his hair before responding. “Is it alright if you hold them until tomorrow? I came on foot today, but I can bring the car next time.”

“Oh…” Ignis says, and there’s that smile again, secret and seductive, “I’d say it’s more than alright.”

Gladio barely manages to clear the commerce district proper before lifting his hands and creating a truly massive wall of earth, jagged and tall and proud, just for the sheer joy of it (and of Ignis, and of what tomorrow might bring).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Kudos and comments mean the world to me. <3


	2. a glimpse of past and future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On his fourth date with Ignis, Gladio opens up about home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **This fic is a re-upload of previously published fics in the series "nothing gold can stay", consolidated into one continuous, multi-chapter story.** Content from chapter four onward is new. Thanks for understanding!
> 
> as originally requested by [jae-seok-soo on Tumblr](https://jae-seok-soo.tumblr.com/)

As soon as Gladio pushes open the door to _Botanica Magica_ , he breathes a sigh of relief. All of the electric lights are still on, blazing steadily in their ornate brass cages overhead, so Ignis hasn’t quite closed up shop yet. He closes the door behind him, prompting the delicate ring of a magical bell Ignis uses to announce visitors.

“Gladio? Is that you?” Ignis asks from the adjacent storeroom, voice muffed by the plant-buffered walls.

“No, just some guy here to bug you after closin’ time,” Gladio calls back, cracking a smile. He follows the sound of Ignis’s quiet laugh in hopes of finding the man himself. There’s a ripple of motion in his peripheral vision as the plants notice his arrival too, fragrant blooms and lithe vines and thick stalks twisting or opening in Gladio’s direction as best they’re able; one overly enthusiastic cluster of buds, resting on one of the higher shelves, puffs tiny clouds of pollen right into Gladio’s face, prompting him to sneeze. Gladio can’t help but wonder if every customer gets this unique display of welcome, or just him.

He doesn’t have the time or inclination to wonder long, since Ignis exists the store room a few moments later, lingering in the moulded door frame that connects the two spaces.

“A rambunctious lot tonight, I’m afraid,” Ignis comments, withdrawing a pristine handkerchief from one of the many pockets of his apron and handing it to Gladio. “No need to return it.”

He still isn’t used to the blend of proper Lucian and ethereal beauty that is Ignis, even after three solid dates and many visits to _Botanica Magica_. Once Gladio finishes wiping his nose and eyes, he shoves the scrap of fabric in a back pocket to deal with later. 

“Thanks. Hey… sorry I’m late,” Gladio says, smile turning a touch rueful. “I think I could have lived the rest of my life without firsthand knowledge of ‘traffic’. So many damn cars.”

“Not to worry. Your sense of timing continues to be impeccable—I was just finishing up the last of my closing tasks before you arrived.” Ignis’s swirling emerald eyes snatch the breath from Gladio each time their gazes meet. He pegs the light that fills their pupilless depths for sardonic. “I would have thought you’d enjoy the novelty of cars, driving, and Lucian technology.”

“I want fancy technology, I’ll go to Niflheim,” Gladio says with a snort. “Seriously, how do all these cars fit on these cramped roads?”

“We can’t thunder around on massive behemoths, gallivanting through the streets and leaping over buildings as we please.” Ignis’s grin turns sharp and teasing.

An fissure of homesickness cracks open inside Gladio’s chest, as deep and powerful as the shifting of the earth beneath its crust. “You’re right, you couldn’t. It’s harder than you think to tame a behemoth, and a great honor besides.” Gladio thinks of his own she-behemoth back home and the fissure cracks a little wider.

Regret softens Ignis’s expression. “It appears I’ve touched a nerve. Forgive me.” He takes off his apron and hangs it on one of the hooks behind the counter as Gladio considers his reply.

“It’s okay,” Gladio says, waving a hand. “It’s not something most—” he almost uses the word _outsiders_ before remembering he’s the outsider here. “—people know. Don’t worry about it. I’d give a whole lot of gil to have Tsyrtra here with me, but it’d probably involve terrorizing a lot of upstanding Lucians in the process. She makes these cars seem like toys.”

“Much as their rider makes us Lucians seem small in comparison.” Ignis glances over his shoulder and winks at Gladio; a smile plays about his lips, lips that Gladio can’t seem to stop fantasizing about in idle moments.

Later. Maybe. 

“Don’t worry, I do a lot of impressing back home, too,” Gladio quips. Once he’s sure Ignis is watching, he stands straighter and flexes, taking full advantage of his sleeveless shirt.

“I can imagine.” Ignis packs several layers of dry amusement into three simple words. A minute or two passes while he turns off most of the store’s lights and locks several display cabinets.

Gladio decides to change the subject before Ignis reaches any definitive conclusions about the size of his ego. “So, you ready to tell me where we’re headed tonight?”

“And spoil the surprise? Hardly.” Ignis dangles a ring of keys from his finger and uses his other hand to push one sleeve up higher, exposing more of the pastel markings that cover his forearms. “Would you like me to drive?”

“Yeah,” Gladio blurts, quick and reflexive, “that’d be great.”

They leave the store together, close enough for their bodies to brush against one another, each contact sending an electric jolt of pleasure through Gladio. Ignis pauses right before he closes the door to finish locking up. He spares Gladio a brief glance, gemlike eyes uncertain, then returns his attention to the shop.

“Good night,” he calls softly into the now-dark store. “Until tomorrow.”

Frisson prickles Gladio’s skin into gooseflesh as Ignis speaks; whether the sensation comes from an exchange of magic between Ignis and his charges or the reserved, human tenderness in his words, Gladio can’t say for sure.

* * *

“How did you find this place?”

Ignis looks so pleased with himself that Gladio can’t help but smile in return. “I’m an intelligent man. Though I’ve never been, I knew we must have a Kilikan restaurant somewhere in the Crown City.” He extends a hand and wiggles his long, elegant fingers. “Case in point.”

Gladio clenches his jaw and tamps down on the outpouring of magic threatening to escape him because of the intensity of his emotion. “You didn’t have to do this, seriously.” Every detail, from the petrichor-like scent of the lobby to the recessed, circular, earthen tables that comprise the seating, reminds Gladio of home. He scans the room for any braided hair or tribal markings that might indicate another Kilikan, but finds none.

Still, the authenticity highlights a fact Gladio’s been ignoring for the better part of two months: he misses Kilika and all his family still there.

“Of course I didn’t have to, but I _wanted_ to.” Ignis rests a hand on the small of Gladio’s back, and the new, intimate touch shocks his magic right back into dormancy. “If you’d rather we dine somewhere else this evening…”

“No! No, this is perfect. C’mon, let's grab a seat.”

Gladio leads them to one of the smaller tables in the back of the main seating area. It has the benefit of being near the kitchen, which means the delectable, savory smells of _arialia_ and _rheaurje_ fill the air around them. Ignis seems as comfortable here as he does within the confines of his shop, folding his legs underneath his body in a copy of Gladio, and Gladio admires his adaptability and confidence.

Well… to be fair, he admires a lot about Ignis. The list grows longer each moment he spends with him. 

It takes all of five minutes for a woman to approach them to take their order. She bows efficiently to Ignis and then turns Gladio, her rich amber eyes sparkling with mirth.

“You’re a long way from home, friend,” she says in his native tongue, all sonorous vowels and musical rhythm.

Gladio smiles hard enough that his cheeks apple. “A long way from home, but glad for a taste of it,” he replies in the same language, each word sealing the fracture in his heart a little more. “Gladiolus, _Khoyor_ of Clan Amicitia.” He extends a hand to the woman, which she takes, her grip strong and firm.

“Qara, of Clan Nhadala, on my father’s side.” She laughs and turns her attention back to Ignis, switching to Lucian once more. “Drinks?”

Ignis hums thoughtfully. He locks his gaze to Gladio’s and gives a knowing smirk before speaking. “Water for me, please.” His accent leaves something to be desired, but Ignis most definitely places his drink order in Kilikan, and Gladio’s heart skips several beats from powerful combination of joy and shock.

“What a nice surprise!” Qara replies in Kilikan, clapping her hands together and grinning. “And for you?” she asks Gladio.

“Water as well,” Gladio says, unable to take his eyes from Ignis.

Once Qara leaves the table, Ignis leans back and raises one immaculate eyebrow. “When exactly were you planning to tell me that you’re royalty, _Gladiolus_?”

Whoops.

Gladio dips his head and laughs, heat suffusing his cheeks like noon sun over the Calms. “I didn’t figure it to be a fourth date kind of conversation. Also, it’s not _really_ royalty, not like it would be here.” A beat later, Gladio tacks on a question. “How did you get all that from a couple sentences?”

“You’ve mentioned previously that your job involves training Prince Noctis, which isn’t a duty assigned lightly.” Ignis raises a hand and lifts a finger, marking off a point made. “You’re of Clan Amicitia, which, if memory serves correct—and I know it does—currently presides over the tribal council of Kilika.” Another finger lifts. “And you called yourself _Khoyor_ , meaning Second, meaning you’re next in line to lead your Clan.” A third finger joins the other two. “Does that about cover it?”

“Caught me,” Gladio says, grinning and raising his hands in surrender. “I don’t like to make a big deal out of it, okay? It’s bad enough with the braids and the plate,” Gladio lifts an arm, flashing the growths of cartilage that cover his forearms, shoulders, and back. “What about you, huh? You could have clued me in on the fact you speak my language. Literally.” He chuckles at his own pun, earning another eyebrow lift from Ignis.

“It’s been quite some time since I’ve needed to use Kilikan. I worried I would be too out of practice,” Ignis admits, crossing his arms over his chest and arching his eyebrow higher. A hint of pink dusts his high cheekbones, so faint Gladio might be dreaming it.

“Gotta admit… I like hearing you speak it,” Gladio rumbles, voice dropping a half octave. “Though I think you could make almost anything sound good.”

There—now Gladio’s _sure_ of the blush. “Flattery will get you nowhere.” But Ignis says it in Kilikan all the same, challenge blazing from the depths of his ever-moving eyes, mysterious and magical and undeniably _Ignis_.

Gladio laughs loudly enough to draw the attention of other patrons. “Doesn’t hurt to try.”

“No. I suppose it doesn’t.”

They fall into natural, aimless chitchat after that, but the charged tension between them lingers, like when Gladio holds his magic right on the edge of fruition without shaping it. Their drinks come, and then their food—a heaping plate of dumplings for Gladio and a hearty bowl of rice, meat, and vegetables for Ignis—and the meal passes in a blink. When they’ve both finished, Ignis fixes Gladio with a calculating look.

“I’d say my portion of the evening was a success,” Ignis declares. He dabs at his mouth with one of the patterned, cloth napkins before continuing. “What’s next?”

“Well… it isn’t as thoughtful as this was,” Gladio makes a sweeping gesture that encompasses the entire restaurant, “but I think you’ll like it anyway.”

* * *

“I believe you sold yourself short, Gladio.”

Gladio had asked earlier in the week for after hours access to the Citadel’s sprawling gardens, which he’d gotten, and now walks through them side by side with Ignis. Every time he passes them during the day, he can’t help but think of Ignis, of his otherworldly grace and crisp clothing and swirling eyes, so he figured bringing the man himself here wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

“Hard to do when I’m so tall,” Gladio replies, teasing, and gets an eyeroll from Ignis for his trouble.

“I’m being serious. This was a fantastic idea,” Ignis says. “The sheer amount of life in these gardens… I feel rejuvenated.” 

“I’d hoped you would.”

Gladio’s been told that, from above, the pathways in the gardens form the fleur-de-lis logo of the Crown City. Maybe they do, maybe they don’t. He’s not tracing their path, or even taking a closer look at the marvelous variety of flowers that fill the gardens—he’s looking at Ignis, every chance he gets. Silver starlight and buttery, electric light from the lampposts lining the garden path casts intoxicating shadows across Ignis’s face. The imposing Citadel looms in the background, adding to the drama of the atmosphere.

They stroll along in silence for a time. It’s one of the many things Gladio appreciates about the reserved, mysterious hedge witch—he’s comfortable with silence. Ignis never jumps to fill an empty space. He lets it flow naturally, giving it space to breathe, and in noisy, busy, bustling Lucis, Gladio finds that to be a rarity.

“I’m loathe to ask this question…” Ignis says, letting his words hang in the air. He takes one of Gladio’s hands and threads his calloused fingers through them. Though Ignis is one of the tallest Lucians Gladio’s encountered, his hand seems small in comparison, dwarfed by the size of Gladio’s own.

“Then don’t ask.”

Ignis laughs, quiet and confident, and squeezes Gladio’s palm. “Does that tactic usually work for you?”

“No,” Gladio says with a chuckle, “it doesn’t. But I have a feeling I know what you’re going to ask, and I don’t want to think about it tonight.”

“How long are you staying in Lucis?”

Yeah, that’s exactly the question Gladio wants to avoid. He wants to enjoy the night, to be connected to the earth and the stars and the moons and to Ignis, not begin the dreaded countdown until his departure. He wants to fill himself with his power and hold Ignis in his arms and feel _alive_ and whole, not think about how much he’ll miss him when he leaves. Hell, Gladio’s barely had him to miss him—they haven’t even kissed—but the prospect alone threatens to spark a never ending ache he wouldn’t know how to ease.

“A year and a day. Some kind of diplomatic tradition, I guess. Noct seems like a fast learner, so I’m not worried about his earthshifting, but…”

“Do you like it here?” Ignis asks softly. He holds his head high, chin tilted up, but studies some point out in the distance of the sprawling gardens.

“I like some things here,” Gladio says. “I like you most of all.”

Ignis doesn’t answer. Instead, he traces up and down Gladio’s arm with the fingertips of his free hand, feeling out the edges of the cartilage plates fused into Gladio’s skin, motions feather light and questing.

Gladio takes a deep breath to steady himself, overcome with desire. There’s a flash of a face from another time and another place—night black hair, burnished gold eyes, and a white smile—before Gladio shudders, dragging his thoughts back to the present. Each stroke of Ignis’s fingers builds the _want_ in him like a physical pressure; after a few more moments of enduring Ignis’s touch, his magic sings in unison with his need, coursing through his blood and being.

“Ignis,” Gladio says raggedly, “I… I’m not sure if you know this, but unless you’re planning to take things a step further, touching my plate isn’t fair. It’s… uh, intimate. _Very_ intimate.”

Ignis removes his hand from Gladio’s arm and places it against the side of his face instead, running his fingers across the braids woven into the sides of Gladio’s hair. He looks up at Gladio, emotion whirling in his verdant gaze but expression unreadable. “Do you want me to take things further, knowing that whatever this is will end?”

“Yes,” Gladio murmurs, instant and indisputable. “ _Yes_.”

When Ignis draws him down into a kiss, it feels like the first time he shaped the earth, full of raw, unbridled joy. His lips are softer than Gladio expected, and he tastes of _arialia,_ and it is everything he hoped and more. Gladio releases Ignis’s hand in order to wrap his arms around his waist, drawing him closer, erasing the distance between their bodies. Ignis licks into Gladio’s mouth, deepening the kiss, his tongue hot and velvety soft against Gladio’s own. He feels a rush of gratitude for having his bare feet on solid ground, anchoring him, keeping him from dissolving in the aftershocks of his want.

Just when he thinks it can’t get any better, Gladio opens his eyes, intending to peek at Ignis but finding so much more.

The entire garden teems with magic. Every flowering plant Gladio can see has blossomed, a rainbow’s worth of petals fanning open and facing Ignis. Other plants thrive as Gladio watches, stalks extending and leaves enlarging, gaining years of growth in the space of seconds. A faint, pastel green glow pervades the area, engulfing every living thing aside from Ignis and Gladio themselves; tiny orbs of the same colour drift upwards towards the sky, a mirror of the stars above. The entire display speaks to a power and beauty Gladio hadn’t known Ignis to possess.

Ignis peers up at Gladio when they break apart, blinking a glassy haze from his eyes. His arms are still looped around Gladio’s neck, but he seems to notice the effect of his magic, craning his head over his shoulder for a better look.

“Does that always happen when you kiss someone?” Gladio asks, low and heated.

“Not usually,” Ignis admits, genuine surprise lifting his normal baritone. “I think I’d better do it again, just to be certain.” He cups Gladio’s bearded cheeks in his hands and urges him down, lips parted slightly, and kisses him again.

This time, Gladio’s own power rises in response, and instead of keeping it in check, he uses a trickle of it. The ground rumbles beneath their feet, emphatic but gentle; Ignis surprises Gladio by moaning into the kiss, the vibration against Gladio’s lips nearly matching the ones at his feet. It’s as though they are two halves to one whole, their powers meeting and resonating with one another as surely as their mouths are pressed together. Gladio cracks one eye open to find the gardens glowing even brighter; the orbs form a curtain of light thick enough to obscure them from view.

Gladio comes up for air, reining in his power before he starts to shift the earth in earnest. Ignis wears an expression that borders somewhere between ‘delirious’ and ‘delighted’. He moves his hands to Gladio’s broad shoulders and grips them tightly, almost as though he’s trying to keep his body upright.

“Well,” Ignis starts, sounding breathless, dazed, “it should prove to be an interesting eleven months.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think you're right,” Gladio agrees, and brings his lips to Ignis's once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Kudos and comments mean the world to me. <3


	3. all things come in threes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two months into his stay in the Crown City, Gladio receives a letter, an unexpected change of plan, and a gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **This fic is a re-upload of previously published fics in the series "nothing gold can stay", consolidated into one continuous, multi-chapter story.** Content from chapter four onward is new. Thanks for understanding!
> 
> as originally requested by [jae-seok-soo on Tumblr](https://jae-seok-soo.tumblr.com/)

Gladio’s day begins with a letter; he slides his thumbnail under the russet orange wax that holds it closed, chipping and crumbling the many pointed sunburst logo of Clan Amicitia. As soon as he opens the envelope, a tiny cloud of scent wafts towards him, one that reminds him of evenings spent watching the sunset as prayer incense burns.

The flourished, impeccable Kilikan calligraphy he finds meandering along the parchment can only belong to one person, and Gladio can’t stop a brilliant smile from overtaking his face.

> _Dear Gladdy,_
> 
> _I hope this message finds you well and arrives safely in your hands. I sent two copies this time, just in case, so don’t get too excited if another letter comes with this one._
> 
> _Since I know you’ll just skim ahead looking for mention of her anyway, Tsyrtra is doing fine. More than fine, really. This past week she went on her mating hunt for the year, so who knows—maybe by the time you come home, there’ll be behemoth pups for the younger riders to train._

Gladio leaps up from the bed, smiling so hard it hurts his cheeks. He lets out a whoop of joy, punching the air a few times for emphasis, before composing himself enough to continue reading.

> _Mother and Father are well. I think Father misses you more than he lets on—truth be told, I think he misses your earthshifting most of all, but only because we had a huge tremor come through last month and could have used the help shaping things together. Mother’s having none of his moping anyway. You know how she gets._
> 
> _Speaking of moping… Mother told me not to mention it, but I think you deserve to know, so I’m going to tell you anyway. The whole clan’s preparing to make the journey to the Peaks soon for Crowe’s handfasting to the Windrider heir. There was a delay with the negotiations between Galahd and the Windriders, but they finally agreed upon terms, so we’re all expected to attend. I know it’s probably not the news you wanted… I just didn’t want you to be surprised when you come back home._

The letter droops over Gladio’s fingers as his grip loosens, his thoughts drifting to another time and place, one where his hands threaded through thick black waves of hair under the regard of burnished golden eyes. He knew of Crowe’s decision—it was half the reason he came to Lucis, after all—but to see the news written out in permanent, swirling calligraphy makes it real in a new way. He’s not… heartbroken, not anymore, but the reminder splashes over him like a bucket of icy water.

He resumes reading with a faint smile that’s more idea than actuality.

> _You remember what our diplomacy tutor said about delivering difficult tidings: good news, bad news, good news. Now that the hard part is out of the way, I do have one last bit of news that should make you happy. We reached an agreement with Clan Ohalland about the territory border along the Ulwaat River, and I’m proud to say that yours truly got to help with the negotiations. No one’s been mortally wounded in the skirmishes since you left, but there have been clashes, and those should come to an end now. It’s been, what, nearly two years since they started making noise about the boundary? And because I know you’re thinking it, no, neither one of us had to be wedded off to seal the deal._

A hearty laugh escapes Gladio as he reads the last—he _had_ been wondering if he’d come home promised to some unknown clansman or clanswoman. At least he appears to be escaping that fate for now.

> _That’s about it for important stuff. I really miss you, Gladdy. It’s been weird not having you around, but I hope you’re having a good time in Lucis and learning a lot. In your last letter, you mentioned making a Lucian friend… Ignis? Am I spelling that name right? Their lettering is so harsh and odd. A hedge witch at that, too. Maybe you can convince him to come visit someday if you stay friends—our_ haalya _grove could use a touch of magic to help things along._

As soon as Gladio reads Ignis’s name, his thoughts veer in a different direction entirely. The warm tremble of magic vibrates through him as he recalls when he saw Ignis last—several nights ago, a night that ended in a passionate, heated exchange of kisses before they parted ways—and a blush creeps in rosy tendrils through his cheeks.

> _Anyway, Father wants me to accompany him out on today’s patrol, so I’d better be going. Love you. Write soon, if you can._
> 
> _Iris_
> 
> _P.S. Put in a good word for me with the Prince? I want to visit the Crown City next._

Gladio shakes his head and chuckles at the post script. He runs the pads of fingers across the thick paper and skims over the words again, skipping over the paragraph about Crowe, because reading it once was certainly enough. He glances up at the clock on the adjacent wall—Lucians and their insistence on tracking every minute of the day still takes some getting used to—and decides to write out a reply to Iris later tonight. His apartment is close to the Citadel, but he needs to leave soon if he wants to be on time for his training session with Prince Noctis.

After Gladio dresses for the day in a breathable tunic and form fitting trousers, he considers Iris’s offhand suggestion that Ignis might come visit. He and Ignis are… well, there’s no other way to describe it: they’re close. Neither of them have attempted to define what the relationship is, and neither of them have broached the subject of Gladio’s departure further down the line, but they seem to be spending every free moment they both have together. The most minute details about Ignis are becoming second nature: the sunlight and _spiratea_ scent of him, the softness of his mouth slotted against Gladio’s, the frisson that dances along his skin when Ignis’s magic responds to his touch, the upheaval of his own power in response.

A spike of heat lances down Gladio’s spine and spreads through his belly, and no, there’s _no_ time for that kind of diversion, so he takes a few deep breaths and thinks of mucking out Tsyrtra’s den to redirect his attention.

Maybe later. For now, he has a Prince to train.

* * *

“Why is this so _hard_?”

Far be it from Gladio to accuse the prince of a foreign kingdom of whining…

“Dunno. Earthshifting ain’t as easy as whining, that’s for sure,” Gladio says, shifting his hips and leaning some of his weight on his greathammer.

Oops.

Prince Noctis lifts his eyes from the ground—intense blue eyes the shape of _fealia_ nuts, their colour like two drops of the endless ocean Gladio traveled across to get here—and blows air between his lips. “I’m not whining.”

“Sounds like you are to me.”

“Are you this harsh to everyone you teach, or just me?” Despite the petulance in the question, Noctis grabs his glittering sword from the ground and gets back on his feet.

The question, hypothetical though it may be, makes Gladio laugh, a rich belly laugh that echoes across the earthen arena. “Everyone, or so I’ve been told. No special treatment for royalty.”

After giving a heavy sigh, Noctis squares his shoulders and straightens his back. “It’s… I dunno, it’s hard to focus on both things at once, the weapon and the magic.”

“You’re not focused today,” Gladio says, picking up his greathammer and bracing it along the back of his shoulders, the topaz-encrusted hilt sparkling in the noon sun. “I can feel it in your shifting. It should be one solid pulse of power, but yours wavers, breaks up halfway between the start and the end.”

“I’m focusing as hard as I can!” Noctis exclaims, gesturing wildly with his sword.

“Are you?” Gladio asks with a slow, certain grin. He likes Noctis, he really does—mild complaining aside, he tries his hardest each session, and he wields his other powers and his sword with a warrior’s finesse, despite a life spent at peace.

But there’s always room for improvement, and Gladio’s been known to _push_ if it speeds things along.

Gladio pivots on bare feet, ankles digging into the earth, and calls forth his power, shifting the ground underneath him in a wave of earth and magic. The motion propels him forward, and as he closes the gap between himself and Noctis, Gladio positions his hammer in a two handed grip behind his head. He’s ready to shield Noctis if he needs to, to encase him in a protective shell of earth to weather the blow… but the whole point of this exercise relies on Gladio not _needing_ to at all.

Noctis leaps to the left, clearing the area just as Gladio’s hammer makes contact with the earth. He channels his power in tandem with the blow, sending a series of aftershocks outward from the initial point of contact; they’re strong enough to cause Noctis to lose his footing, but to his credit, he springs back up, the entire backside of his royal black outfit caked in pale brown dirt.

“What the f—” Noctis croaks out.

He doesn’t have time to finish, because Gladio’s already leaping across the arena, buoyed on a physical wave of earth, swinging his hammer as soon as he judges he’s at the far edge of its range. It misses Noctis by a whisper, close enough to send his blue-black hair whipping back from his face, his pink lips pursed in an ‘o’ of shock.

“I’m not gonna miss next time,” Gladio calls, grin turning feral, “so you’d better learn to make that shield real fast.” True to his word, Gladio readies another blow, the hard cartilage that covers his upper body flexing with the strain of the effort. The overhand attack is slow and obvious by Gladio’s standards, but he’s not trying to mortally wound the prince, only shock him into the focus that true danger provides.

It works.

Gladio senses a thrum of power underneath his own, significantly weaker and with a different _feel_ , and laughs as his greathammer connects with a dense, tough layer of rock. There’s enough force behind it to shatter the shield into fragments, tiny chips of stone splintering off in several directions.

“Again!” Gladio barks.

As Gladio winds up for another assault, Noctis reforms the shield, the shattered pieces of earth melding back together into one solid wall of plate. This time Gladio goes for a powerful side swing, the hit tearing through the middle of the shield in one continuous motion, causing it to collapse completely.

“Happy now?” Noctis asks. He stands with his sword at the ready, eyes wide, sweat beading at his temples and carving a rivulet through the dust that coats his neck.

“Actually, yeah, I am,” Gladio admits. After he shifts his grip to hold his greathammer with one hand, he uses the other to thump Noctis on the back a few times, leaving big handprints between the shoulders of his training jacket. “Relax, I’m not gonna jump at you again. That was pretty good. It wouldn’t get you laughed out of the arena back home like the other tries.”

“You know what else I’ve learned from you?” Noctis’s tone is deceptively polite, which makes Gladio raise an eyebrow at him.

“What?”

“I’m never visiting Kilika. Not if I can help it.”

Gladio gives Noctis’s shoulder light, playful shove. “Hey, it might do you some good. I’m sure you’d impress every clanswoman from Calms to Peaks with your fancy powers.”

“From extensive combat instruction to arranging political marriages. Truly, Gladiolus, I wonder what else we’ve yet to see from you.”

Even if he didn’t have a full frontal view of Noctis’s insufferable grin, Gladio recognizes the voice that comes from behind him as belonging to His Majesty. “Yeah, _Gladiolus_ ,” Noctis parrots, and Gladio makes a mental note to thoroughly run him into the ground next session.

What Gladio doesn’t expect to see when he turns around is Ignis standing beside His Majesty, and yet there he is, all elegant confidence. Silent mirth sparkles in his swirling, pupilless eyes. Despite being in the presence of the King of Lucis, Ignis is dressed more casually than Gladio can recall seeing him, sleeves rolled up to his forearms and the top two buttons of his shirt undone; the venous markings of power are a vivid, bright green against his pale skin, an indication that he’s used his magic recently. Gladio’s pulse quickens at the sight, blood beating in his ears, but until he can better figure out the situation, he decides it might be safer not to acknowledge him.

There’s another man flanking His Majesty that Gladio hasn’t seen before, nearly as tall as Gladio himself is. The item that draws Gladio’s immediate attention is the wickedly long blade strapped to his back, and the rest of the details fill in from there: close cropped brown hair, a black Lucian military uniform, and a silken black blindfold tied across his eyes.

“Your Majesty,” Gladio mutters, dropping into a deep bow. When he rises from it, his gaze flicks between Ignis and the King of Lucis, trying to puzzle out why the two of them would be strolling along the practice grounds together with some sort of macabre bodyguard in tow.

Noctis inadvertently buys him more time. “Specs!” he crows, letting his sword fall to the ground and beelining straight for Ignis. As Gladio thinks back, it _was_ Noctis who recommended _Botanica Magica_ to him, so the brief hug the two share easily clicks into place. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to the Citadel today?”

 _Same question_ , Gladio adds with an amused snort.

“I wasn’t aware I was required to disclose my monthly schedule to you, Your Highness. Forgive me,” Ignis replies, the edges of his Lucian crisp and sharp. The quirk in one corner of his mouth and the fond press of his fingers into Noctis’s shoulder belie the intensity of the sarcasm.

Noctis groans. “You know what I mean,” he says, adding an eye roll for good measure, before looking to the blindfolded man who stands behind the king. “Cor.”

“Your Highness.” Gladio, a man born and raised amid earth and stone, would describe Cor’s tone as adamantine in its hardness. When he turns to regard Gladio with a fabric covered stare, a chill coasts along his skin. It doesn’t frighten him, but… there’s a power there with depth he doesn’t understand, and he knows with sudden certainty he wouldn’t want to face this man in battle.

“It looked like you were holding your own quite well,” the king says, drawing Gladio’s gaze, “though perhaps Gladiolus deserves to make an early day of it.”

After a quick glance at the sun’s position, Gladio demurs. “We still have a good hour left, Your Majesty. I don’t mind.” It’s a token protest—he won’t argue with an order from the king himself, but he also doesn’t want to give in immediately and cast doubt on his work ethic.

To Gladio’s surprise, Ignis speaks up. “His Majesty is right. From what I understand, you’ve been working quite hard. Surely you’ve earned a day of respite.” A tiny, knowing smirk plays across Ignis’s lips as he meets Gladio’s eyes, one thin eyebrow lifting in a teasing arc.

“Hey,” Gladio begins, lifting his hands with fingers spread wide, “trust me, I won’t argue. But…” He turns to Noctis, whose expression is entirely too self-satisfied for Gladio’s liking, “that just means we’re going extra hard day after tomorrow. Got it?”

The satisfaction across the prince’s face falters. “Got it,” Noctis says, and he sounds sincere enough that Gladio believes him.

“Good.” He reaches out to Noctis, still within arm’s reach, and ruffles his already messy hair, earning himself a glare from Noctis and a chuckle from His Majesty.

“Come, Noctis,” the king says, beckoning to his only son. Noctis retrieves his weapon and then moves to stand between His Majesty and Cor, settling naturally into place. The three of them begin to move towards the towering fortress of the Citadel, but Ignis hesitates.

“I’ll only be a moment, Your Grace,” Ignis says.

His Majesty acknowledges this with a wave of his hand, a thick black ring around his middle finger a stark contrast to the the weathered skin around it, and continues walking with Cor and Noctis.

“I didn’t know you knew the king personally,” Gladio says in Kilikan as soon as the three are reasonably out of earshot. He pushes his braids back from his face as he regards Ignis with an inquisitive stare, waiting for some sort of explanation.

“I have something of a history with the royal family of Lucis and am currently on retainer with them,” Ignis replies in Kilikan, lowering his voice and taking a few steps towards Gladio. His fingers quickly brush against the sensitive plate that covers Gladio’s arms. “Will you have time to come by the shop tonight, around eight this evening? We can talk more then.”

“Sure,” Gladio agrees, eyes narrowed. “I’ll see you at eight.”

“Thank you.” Ignis breathes out the words in a quiet rush, and after a glance over his shoulder, turns his head and places an insubstantial kiss on the plate along Gladio’s upper arm.

Gladio assesses the polished, angular lines of Ignis’s back as he strides towards the King of Lucis, full of questions and desire in equal parts.

* * *

They do talk after Gladio arrives at _Botanica Magica._ Eventually.

As soon as Gladio enters and closes the door, Ignis has him pushed against it, hands sliding under Gladio’s shirt as he claims his mouth in a hungry kiss. Gladio’s back hits the wood with a solid thud from the force of Ignis’s attention, but he doesn’t mind, only kisses Ignis harder, the faint tremor of his magic stirring deep within his chest. When Ignis threads his fingers through Gladio’s hair on one side, the vine by the entrance copies the motion on the other; Gladio wonders idly if there’s any better place to be than tangled in Ignis’s embrace and creatures alike.

It’s a bewitching thought, seductive in its appeal, and the first slide of Ignis’s tongue against Gladio’s steals it away regardless. As Gladio’s power surges up inside him, he can sense Ignis’s magic too, a smattering of tiny orbs flickering to life in the shop around them.

“If you’re trying to distract me,” Gladio rumbles against Ignis’s mouth when they part for air, “it’s working.”

Ignis’s heated laugh reverberates through Gladio’s body in a pleasant, soothing way. His grip tightens in Gladio’s hair as they kiss again, slower this time, the fingers of his other hand exploring the peaks and valleys of his chest. The soft heat of Ignis’s mouth contrasts with keen edges of the rest of him, from the peak of hair jutting above his forehead to the immaculate creases in his slacks.

“I’m appalled that you think I’d resort to such base, wanton tactics to distract you,” Ignis quips, “when I only want to enjoy you.”

“That’s good too,” Gladio agrees absentmindedly, kissing Ignis again, putting his hands on the small of Ignis’s back and pulling him closer.

The rich baritone of Ignis’s answering laugh sounds like his shop looks, brilliant and beautiful and brimming with life. “I suppose I might be stalling a touch,” he admits, peering at Gladio from behind his glasses.

“Wanna explain why?” Gladio asks, letting his hands slide lower to cup Ignis’s backside. “We can stay right here while you do.” He takes a wider stance so that Ignis fits more comfortably between his legs. “Or we could take this conversation back to my apartment.”

“I wish.” There’s another delay as Ignis begins to mouth at Gladio’s neck, suckling at the skin there with the perfect amount of pressure. Gladio’s considering the layout of the lobby, searching for a space they could both feasibly fit, when Ignis finally relents. “If I had more time tonight… absolutely.” He removes his hand from Gladio’s hair, which prompts the vine beside the door to curl back against the wall in its original position.

“What’s going on?”

A guarded shadow passes through Ignis’s eyes as he considers. “I’ve been asked by His Majesty to undertake a specific task for him, outside of the Crown City, one that my talents are well suited for.”

“Oh?” Gladio asks, doing his best to ignore the miniature earthquake in his heart that Ignis’s words have unleashed. “And this task would be… ?”

“A daemon infestation of a forest outside of Leide. They happen less and less frequently since Lucis was victorious against Niflheim in the Great War, but they do occur, and given the nature of this particular infestation…” 

Gladio moves his hands from Ignis’s rear to the small of his back, taking his lower lip between his teeth as he thinks. “How long will you be gone?”

“If all goes well, a month. If there are any unexpected complications… longer.”

Ancients and Astrals. The lost time would take them down to nine months together, less if things go poorly during Ignis’s trip. Gladio frowns and runs his hands up and down Ignis’s back, taking comfort in the firm planes of muscle there, considering his next words.

“There’s no way you could turn His Majesty down?” he asks hopefully.

“Much as you’re honor bound to return to Kilika, I’m honor bound to the crown of Lucis. If there were anyone else who could fix this, believe me, I’d be more than thrilled to let them do so.” Ignis makes eye contact with Gladio and gives a rueful smile. “Would it be overmuch to admit that I find myself missing you already, and I’ve not even left?”

“No,” Gladio says with a half-hearted grin. “There’s a lot to miss about me. The charm, the looks, the regal bearing…”

Ignis gives a vexed sigh. “You certainly have an ego on you fit for royalty, and I would know.” After a long moment, he withdraws from Gladio, his shimmering eyes roaming up and down Gladio’s body. “As much as I desperately want to spend the remainder of the night with you, I have preparations to make, but I did call you here for another reason.”

“Aside from breaking my heart?” Gladio asks, smirking, finding the jest easier than giving in to the impending loneliness brewing within him like a storm.

“Aside from that,” Ignis fires back with a tiny roll of his eyes. “I have a gift for you. Follow me.”

Gladio does as Ignis asks, following him to the larger, secondary room past the lobby of _Botanica Magica_. Over the weeks he’s spent coming to the shop almost daily, the denizens of the shelves have changed, but one has remained—the one Gladio’s eye was drawn to on his first visit. It’s to that plant that Ignis leads him now, both of them coming to a stop in front of the familiar cluster of gossamer lavender blossoms.

“ _Wisteria memoria_ ,” Ignis says without preamble, gesturing with his long, elegant fingers to the flower. “A rare specimen with an innate magic all its own. The fragrance of the petals varies from person to person, their scent evoking that of your fondest memory.” Ignis pauses and stands a little straighter, smoothing down the front of his shirt. “I want you to have it.”

“Are you sure?” Gladio asks, affection suffusing his chest with all the golden warmth of sunrise. “You seemed so protective when—”

“I’m positive,” Ignis says quickly, tone snappish. He immediately adds in a softer voice, “please. There’s no one I can think of who would give it a better home. I only ask that you either return it to me or take it with you when you return to Kilika.”

Gladio nods, overwhelmed with the generosity of the gift. He leans in towards the _wisteria memoria_ and inhales, curious as to what he’ll smell, but the only scent he catches is the clean laundry of Ignis and the floral aroma of the shop itself. “I don’t smell anything,” he tells Ignis. “Did I, uh, break it somehow?”

An infinitesimal frown creases Ignis’s brow. “That’s odd. Perhaps it’s hard to detect with all of the other plants and flowers nearby. You’ll have to let me know if you have any success with it once I return from Leide.”

At the mention of his departure, Gladio turns to Ignis, opening his arms in a silent offer. Ignis accepts it and steps into his embrace. For once since he’s arrived in Lucis, Gladio allows himself to lose track of time, forgetting the minutes as he commits the shape and feel of Ignis in his arms to memory. 

* * *

The _wisteria memoria_ , Gladio soon learns, is not defective. As he places it underneath the windowsill in his apartment, he catches a familiar scent as he inhales: fresh laundry, sunlight, and the promise of ice cold _spiratea_ at the end of a hard day’s work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Kudos and comments mean the world to me. <3


	4. like air, like water, like sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio fills his days with friendship while waiting for Ignis to return.

Though Ignis’s absence eclipses some of the usual brightness in Gladio’s waking hours, he’s never been one for pining, and so he stays busy.

His duties as Noct’s trainer take up a good chunk of his days, and with Ignis gone, he extends the hours he puts in (as much as Noct will tolerate). With approval from His Majesty, he and Noct undertake some explorations in the wilderness outside the Crown City with the intent of imparting some survival skills to Noct—though Gladio wonders if Noct’s driving will end him faster than the wait for Ignis to return home. Some nights he spends dining in the Palace with His Majesty and His Highness, the affair much more formal than family dinners back home, all polished silverware and starched napkins and a hundred, tiny courses. Still, Gladio enjoys the company—and the fact that neither Regis nor Noct fawn over him in sycophantic diplomacy.

That still leaves many evenings free to explore the Crown City. Autumn’s first chill descends on the city, weaving a brisk thread into balmy winds. One of Gladio’s explorations leads him to a Lucian tailor, where he purchases a leather coat more for the novelty of the item than any warmth it might provide; the furs he commissions back home and packed for the journey will serve him once snow begins to blanket Lucis.

Gladio tries not to let his thoughts dwell on metaphor as the leaves begin to change from green—a green the colour of Ignis’s swirling, prismatic eyes—to red and gold.

He dwells on it anyway.

Two weeks into Ignis’s month long errand, Gladio stumbles upon a new, intriguing form of entertainment mostly by chance. At His Majesty’s insistence, Gladio pays a visit to the training hall of the Crownsguard, Lucis’ standing army. He’s seen the black and silver uniforms they wear, both on Ignis and on strangers, and when he enters the Crownsguard hall, he finds the room full of men and women and uniform.

“About time!” a lithe man calls, the sides of his head shaved like Gladio’s own, miniature braids framing one side of his face. He waves an arm over his head, lips curved in a smirk, and begins walking towards Gladio.

(Gladio knows those tiny, intricate braids—has woven them with his own hands in different hair, in a time and place that seems so very far away.)

“Wasn’t aware I had an appointment.”

The other man laughs at Gladio’s words and shakes his head. “His Majesty must have left out the details, huh? The name’s Nyx. Corporal Ulric, if you’re feeling formal. Cheeky shit, if you’re these guys,” he says, jerking a thumb in the direction of a line of uniformed soldiers. The cadence of the man’s voice all but confirms Gladio’s suspicions.

“He might have,” Gladio offers, extending a hand to Nyx, who grabs it and shakes it firmly. “Nice to meet you, Nyx. Wanna fill me in?”

“None of my crew have ever had a chance to fight against an earthshifter… well, not the genuine article, though His Highness and His Majesty have made a valiant effort once or twice. I heard you had some time on your hands and don’t mind a good workout.” As Nyx continues to speak, Gladio’s initial thought crystallizes: it’s faint, but Corporal Ulric undoubtedly has a Galahdian accent.

“What, Stormcallers aren’t enough practice for your people?” Gladio asks in Galahdian. His Galahdian tumbles a bit clumsily from his lips, his enunciation decayed by disuse, but judging from Nyx’s delighted grin, he doesn’t miss the mark.

(Crowe wore an exact copy of that grin once, beaming the first time Gladio spoke to her in the language she learned at her mother’s knee.)

“See, I’ve been telling everyone you’re not as intimidating as you look. And now I can vouch that the Prince of Kilika himself is a class act thanks to this exciting firsthand knowledge,” Nyx says, replying in Galahdian. He speaks faster in his native language than he does in Lucian, but Gladio keeps up enough to laugh at the joke.

“I wouldn’t get very far with diplomacy if I only spoke my mother tongue.”

“ _Mother tongue_ is a lewd Galahdian euphemism. I think you wanted ‘native tongue’,” Nyx corrects.

Gladio chuckles again, too engrossed in Nyx’s charisma to mind the misstep. He taps one finger against his temple. “Noted. So… you wanna introduce me?”

Nyx switches back to Lucian. “Sure. Let me show you around and then we can get some matches going.” Blue-grey eyes flick up and down Gladio’s body. “You need to get your hammer, or…?”

“Nah. I’m not gonna need it.”

After a round of introductions, Nyx quickly organizes a round robin set of sparring matches, placing himself and Gladio on opposite sides of the tree. Nyx’s soldiers seem competent enough for a country at peace, but against someone who routinely has to defend Kilika’s territory from rival clans, they don’t stand much of a chance. The scoring requires Gladio to land three hits against his opponent, which he does without ever taking up arms.

Gladio isn’t certain it’s coincidence when he and Nyx end up being the final matchup of the impromptu tournament.

“Still thinking you don’t need that hammer?” Nyx asks, hair damp with sweat but unflappable grin still in place.

“Still thinking you don’t need your magic?”

“Fair point, Your Highness, fair point.”

“Don’t call me ‘Your Highness’.”

A chill passes through Gladio’s body and sends a tingle through the armored plates fused to his skin. When Gladio looks over his shoulder, he sees The Immortal standing off to the side behind him, arms tightly folded across his chest and blindfolded gaze unfathomably black. A tournament with no stakes seems an odd thing for The Immortal to take interest in, but Gladio has never minded an audience.

“Magic and weapons, then?” Nyx asks, twirling two daggers in luminescent pinwheels around his fingers.

“Yeah,” Gladio agrees.

Gladio berates himself for not having watched Nyx more closely in the previous rounds. He’s as agile as a behemoth pup, weaving all manner of acrobatic feats into his combat without blinking an eye. Unfortunately for Nyx, Gladio _does_ know all too well when someone is trying harder to show off than to fight in earnest, and he’s clearly not expecting Gladio to sweep his legs out from under him with a wave of earth and tap his hammer against his chest.

Nyx holds up his hands and laughs breathlessly from his prone position. “First point to you, _Your Highness_.”

Gladio rolls his eyes, helps him up, and the match begins again.

This round, Nyx finally deigns to use magic, and Gladio understands instantly how formidable of an opponent he is.

One instant, he’s inches from the blunt end of Gladio’s hammer, perfectly aligned to receive a controlled blow and for Gladio to earn his second point. In the next instant…

He vanishes.

When he reappears, the sharp prick of a dagger presses into Gladio’s back, rendering him motionless. “Second point to me,” Nyx declares.

Nyx has the audacity to nudge Gladio with a booted toe for his second point (and the third of the round), which stokes a familiar, focused fury within Gladio. It’s during the fourth round that Gladio figures out Nyx isn’t actually _teleporting_ like he appears to be—some sort of temporal manipulation makes him difficult to see, therefore providing an advantage in combat.

It doesn’t make him difficult to _feel_.

Gladio encases his body in a solid shield of thick earth and opens his magic fully, reaching out for any minute changes in vibrations around him. It’s tricky to pinpoint even with all of his experience, but there’s a split instant where he can sense where Nyx is in reality before he appears to Gladio’s vision.

Armed with new knowledge, the shield of earth crumbles away and becomes one with the ground once more, and Gladio meets Nyx’s twin daggers with the haft of his greathammer and bares his teeth in a half grin, half snarl.

“Not bad, friend,” Nyx says with his own answering grin.

Gladio wins his second point, but it’s hard won. By the time the tie breaking round starts, the gathered soldiers have formed distinct sides, cheering on one or the other as they take up their stances at opposite sides of the ring. 

The deciding round is easily the most invigorating fight Gladio’s had since he came to Lucis. Nyx clearly doesn’t hold back, nearly all of his movement invisible to the naked eye. In one memorable standoff, Nyx manages to drive a dagger _through_ the crust of Gladio’s earthen shield, the point sharp and gleaming as it creates a spider web of cracks in the protective barrier. Gladio responds with a surge of magic, pushing a wave of earth out from his body in all directions, forcing Nyx to retreat into the temporal between.

Although it pains him to admit it, Gladio’s victory comes from equal parts luck and skill. He misjudges Nyx’s trajectory as he shifts through time, his hammer making contact with Nyx’s body in midair. There’s more force in the blow than he intended, and Nyx’s form flashes back into sight as he sails across the training room floor.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Gladio says, more to himself than to anyone watching. “You okay?!” he calls out, jogging over to where Nyx’s limbs are tangled on the floor.

By the time he reaches Nyx, the Immortal is there as well, and somehow, the chill Gladio felt earlier has intensified tenfold along his skin. Ignoring him for the time being, Gladio extends a hand down to Nyx, who accepts it and slowly pulls himself up off the floor.

“Never better,” Nyx says, and for all the distance he just traveled, he _does_ sound find, his posture echoing the words. He flashes a smile at Gladio, clapping him on the shoulder, before turning to the Immortal. “Seriously, I’m fine.”

Cor’s blindfolded gaze lingers on Gladio a few seconds too long for comfort before he trains it on Nyx. It’s only when Cor reaches for Nyx, an arm winding around his waist and fingers splayed across his hip, that it dawns on Gladio—there’s something _more_ between these two. He studies the interlocking tiles on the ceiling as Corporal Ulric and the Immortal converse, their words a quiet susurrus beneath the excited cacophony of the other soldiers. The proximity to Cor and his old, ancient magic sets off a chain reaction in Gladio’s; he’s not an official _ullamh_ back home, but he’d bet considerable gil that their powers are related.

Finally, Nyx sweeps a gloved hand back through his undercut and regards Gladio with a roguish grin, heedless of Cor violating every concept Lucians seem to have of personal space. “How would you feel about a rematch next week?” he asks, extending a hand.

“That’d be great,” Gladio replies, sealing the deal with a handshake and earning a friend in the process.

* * *

Soon, neat rows of ‘X’s on Gladio’s calendar have marched all the way to the day he has circled for Ignis’s return.

The only thing that _doesn’t_ come with them is Ignis.

Gladio passes three distracted autumn days in more or less his usual routine. Noct doesn’t comment on Ignis’s absence during their training session, nor does His Majesty when he dines at the Citadel. He assumes it would be worth noting if, as Ignis claimed prior to his departure, a man on retainer with the Crown itself went missing. Though… he’d also said he’d return in a month _if all goes well_ , four words which began to haunt Gladio, a quadruplet of ghosts from the past harrying his thoughts.

As he departs the Citadel for the evening on the fourth day, he decides to alter his path home to pass Botanica Magica. Plumes of smoke rise in neat rows from the myriad establishments packed into the Crown City, fireplaces finally in use to ward off autumn’s chill. The seasons in Kilika are divided more into “dry” and “rainy” instead of “summer” and “winter,” and Gladio suspects he’ll have to start wearing his furs and boots soon. He passes a couple clutching steaming mugs of a spicy smelling drink in hand and makes a note to ask Ignis about it when he returns.

Gladio isn’t sure _why_ he’s going to Ignis’s shop. With the hedge witch himself gone, it’ll likely be closed to the public. Still… 

There’s an ache in him begging to be eased, the same ache of heart that drove him to the shores of Lucis, an ache that has now returned a hundredfold.

He rounds the corner of the street Botanica Magica resides on, his eyes drawn by instinct to the shop. While still covered in all manner of plant life, the colours of the verdant decorations have changed, swapped out for presumably more hearty creatures. As Gladio gets closer and closer to the shop, he notes an even stranger fact—the lights are on, casting a warm yellow glow from the two arched windows, and the sign dangling in the window is flipped to ‘open’.

His eyebrows draw together in a frown. He can’t imagine Ignis returning to the Crown City without at least letting Gladio know he’d arrived home safely, but all the same, his pulse quickens in his chest and throat and wrists, anticipation and indignation coursing through his veins. If he’d had any doubts about going inside, they vanish at the possibility of seeing Ignis again, so he pushes open the door and lets himself in.

A tickle at his forearm plate makes Gladio look to the right, where he finds his favourite plant friend reaching out for him, the vine that lives on the trellis beside the door. Its motions are more sluggish than usual, its tendrils a whisper against Gladio’s skin. Apparently, he isn’t the only one feeling the effects of Ignis’s loss.

“Good evening.” The greeting comes from the counter in the foyer, where a petite and beautiful young woman offers him a smile, her blonde hair in a neat and simple braid.

Who was this? Ignis had never mentioned having any co-proprietor or assistant in running his store. A girlfriend? A _wife_? His runaway thoughts send a spike of jealousy through his gut before he talks himself down from the conclusion he jumped to.

Ridiculous. Then again, he’s acting more and more ridiculous with each day that passes since Ignis was supposed to be home.

Gladio struggles to remember his manners given that his heart has plunged straight to his feet. “Good evening,” he replies, eyes scouring the room for any signs of Ignis. Upon finding none, he opts for the direct approach. “I, uh… was hoping Ignis was here.”

The woman’s cornflower blue eyes are both striking and full of sympathy. “Ah, my apologies, but Ignis is currently away from the Crown City. I’m an apprentice of sorts and am currently tending to Botanica Magica. I may be able to assist you if you had urgent, outstanding business.”

“I wouldn’t call it business, exactly,” Gladio admits with an easy chuckle, crossing the room and offering her a bow and his best smile. “The name’s Gladiolus.”

Her name, as Gladio soon learns when they find themselves drawn into an hour long conversation, is Lunafreya. Ignis seems to have a penchant for attracting persons of note, because Lunafreya informs Gladio that she’s an Oracle from Tenebrae; she possesses magic of the healing variety, but came to Lucis seeking to expand her repertoire. Oracles, she tells him over a warm cup of green tea, have a similar ability to Lucian Kings to learn more than one type of magic, but their focus is on the arts of life and healing. Some aspects of hedge witchery apparently fit the bill. He’s heard vaguely of Tenebrae and the Oracles by reading history books, but having the genuine article in front of him is a delight.

She’s incredibly easy to talk to, and Gladio finds the thick, heavy fog around his heart lifting as they converse. It turns out she’s heard of _him_ as the earth shifter teaching Prince Noctis, not as Gladio, but she seems genuinely invested as he recalls his experiences in Lucis.

There’s one question that niggles at Gladio, and true to form, he asks it. “Why didn’t Ignis tell me he had an apprentice?”

Lunafreya shrugs her slim shoulders, lending the gesture the same delicacy as every other one she’s made. “I’m not certain if you’ve noticed, but Ignis tends to be… extraordinarily private. I could pose the same question to you, in truth. I had no idea Ignis’s absences these past months were due to torrid assignations with a Kilikan lover,” she says with a tiny smile.

“Torrid,” Gladio deadpans, huffing out a burst of air through his nose. “Never said anything about _torrid_ , Miss Lunafreya. That’s all you.”

Her laugh is like the peal of windchimes before a storm. “In any case…”

After Lunafreya flips the sign closed and locks the door, they spend another hour in conversation. Once she extorts two promises from him, one for him to come visit her in the Crown City again—even _after_ Ignis returns—and one for him to travel to Tenebrae some day, they leave the shop together and head their separate ways home.

* * *

“You’re not even _trying_ today, Prince Behemoth,” Nyx drawls.

“Maybe I’d try harder if you stopped using that stupid nickname,” Gladio counters, dusting off his trousers.

It’s true that he’s not focused. A week has passed since Ignis said he’d be back, and _if all goes well_ beats on the inside of his skull like thunder on the Plains. Each rise and fall of the sun erodes his confidence a little further, makes him doubt a little harder.

“Hey, it’s that or ‘Your Highness’, which you denied in no uncertain terms.”

“Have you considered ‘Gladio’,” he says flatly.

Nyx takes his lower lip between his teeth and rolls his eyes as he hands Gladio his greathammer, and Gladio takes a petty, private joy that his arm wobbles a bit as he forks it over. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Gladio grunts. He’s not in the mood for Nyx’s teasing today, no matter how easy their camaraderie has come before.

“Seriously, what gives? I can practically see the stormcloud following your surly face around,” Nyx asks, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall.

“Just got a lot on my mind is all.”

“I’ve been told I’m a fantastic listener.”

“I’m sure you’ve been told you’re a fantastic _fharak_ ,” Gladio counters.

“Oh, ouch!” Nyx exclaims, barking out a quick laugh afterward. “Alright, well… we can talk about it, or we can keep trying to beat the crap out of each other. Doesn’t matter much to me.”

Gladio heaves an impressive sigh. “A friend was supposed to be back in town last week, and he’s not. That’s all.”

Nyx’s blue-grey eyes narrow and he purses his lips. “A friend, huh? Who maybe left about a month ago? A friend named Ignis, possibly?”

“Why’d you assume Ignis?”

“Because you’re not exactly subtle, friend. Sorry,” Nyx says with a chuckle. “Also, and perhaps more relevantly to the issue at hand, Cor and Ignis go way back, and I am _friends_ with Cor.” Nyx smirks as he emphasizes the word _friends_. “Want me to ask him if he knows anything?”

His pride swells like an ocean wave in protest, but Gladio coasts it, biting the inside of his cheek. “You don’t mind?”

“Nah.” A beat. “Now, you want to get back to our match or what?”

* * *

True to his word, when Gladio sees Nyx again three days later, he waves him over before they begin sparring.

“So, good news…” Nyx begins in an ascending tone, “Ignis probably isn’t dead?”

Gladio clamps down on the strong, sudden urge to scream, gritting his teeth together. His magic surges to life within him so intensely that it feels like his bones will shatter. It takes several moments of focus and calm, deep breathing before he wrests it back under his control, but not without a slight tremor coursing through the training room floor. When he finally forces words between his lips, he takes pride in the fact that they sound _mostly_ even. “If that’s the good news, do I wanna know the bad news?”

Nyx lifts his hands, palms facing up. “The bad news is that Cor is _literally_ immortal, and as such, he doesn’t have as great a grasp on time like mortals do. He doesn’t tend to get worried until Ignis has been missing for _years_ , so… yeah. Sorry, friend. I wish I had a more solid lead for you, but it seems like your best option is waiting.”

A slew of new information swirls around in Gladio’s thoughts like the wild eddies of a white water river. His sudden, intense worry for Ignis’s safety—and his crushing dread that he may never see Ignis again—is temporarily overtaken by the knowledge that an actual, live, immortal creature routinely walks the halls of the Citadel.

“ _Literally_ Immortal?” Gladio repeats, emphasis and all.

“Yup.”

“And you guys are together?”

“Last time I checked.” Nyx’s grin turns lascivious. “Which was _very_ recently.”

“Huh.” He shifts, adjusting his greathammer. Some things in life, regardless of time or place, elude an appropriate response, and this definitely counts as one of them, so Gladio opts for the next best thing as he regards Nyx. “Best of five today?”

“Sure thing.”

Gladio’s so eager to take his mind off his concerns that it’s not until hours later, on his walk home, that he wonders what Nyx meant by Ignis being gone for _years_.

* * *

Thirteen days after _if all goes well_ has come and gone, a knock on Gladio’s apartment door pulls him from sleep.

He learned to be a light sleeper as a warrior of the Clans, and four months in Lucis hasn’t been enough to kick the habit. Gladio tosses back the thick blankets of his bed and glances at the clock; its hands are bold enough for him to read it as half past two in the morning, despite his sleep bleary eyes.

It has to be Ignis.

Who else could it be?

His long legs devour the bedroom and living area in a record number of paces. There’s no quelling the hope blossoming to life within him, alighting with the unique magicks all creatures share—longing, desire, connection, love. Gladio could move mountains, create an archipelago, mend cataclysmic rifts with the power building inside him. If Ignis is waiting for him, he’s certain that all impossible things will become possible by sheer virtue of his relief.

The cool metal of the doorknob twists easily in his grip.

When the door opens, when belief becomes reality, when Gladio finds Ignis waiting outside his apartment, clearly exhausted but no less handsome for it, he swears he’s become a Windrider, soaring on the currents of emotion swelling within him.

“Gladiolus,” Ignis begins, and oh, his familiar, clipped accent transforms to a symphony in miniature as Gladio hears the words, “I apologize for calling on you at this late—”

That’s as far as Ignis gets before Gladio sweeps him into his arms and kisses him.

They fit together as perfectly as they had in Gladio’s idle thoughts for the past month and a half. Ignis tastes of mint and something more bitter underneath it, but Gladio drinks him down all the same, slotting their mouths together and parting Ignis’s soft lips with his tongue. Their bodies and magic alike melt into one another: as the plants scattered throughout Gladio’s apartment come to life, a steady rumble begins in the floor; as Ignis relaxes incrementally in Gladio’s embrace, each of Gladio’s breaths come easier; with each slow, gentle kiss they exchange, he’s more and more certain that this is where he’s meant to be.

That this is _who_ he’s meant to be with.

Ignis is the first to pull back when they come up for air, regarding Gladio with his gorgeous, swirling, wonderful emerald eyes. “I gather I was missed in the Crown City.”

“Like air,” Gladio confirms, brushing his lips against Ignis’s neck. “Like water,” he adds with a kiss to his jaw. “Like sun,” he declares, capturing Ignis’s lips once more, a pleased sigh escaping through his nose when he feels Ignis smile against his mouth.

“Missed enough for traditional Kilikan recitations of love?” Ignis asks, his breath ghosting across Gladio’s lips, eyes closed.

“More than.”

Once Gladio closes and locks the door behind Ignis, the two of them weave their way through his apartment, arms and legs intertwined, stopping to exchange kisses whenever the fancy strikes them, which is often. Ignis cups the back of Gladio’s head, his long, elegant fingers threaded through Gladio’s hair, and Gladio never wants him to let go. They dive into one another like lovers parted for years rather than months.

Some of the haze clears when Gladio realizes Ignis has steered them to his modest bedroom, a bedroom in which all the plants glow with ethereal light, where starlight and electricity shine in through the single window. Gladio believes his blood might have turned to magma when he wasn’t paying attention for how hot it burns inside him.

“I guess I wasn’t the only one missing somebody,” Gladio rumbles.

“Not in the slightest,” Ignis confirms. He looks up at Gladio, his lips quirking down at the corners, eyes serious, light brown hair feathered across his forehead. “I desire this more than I could have ever imagined. No, I desire _you_ more than I could have ever imagined.” One of his hands rests flat over Gladio’s bare, broad chest, connecting their bodies as surely as their magic is tangled together.

“I’m hearing a ‘but’,” Gladio says.

“I’m not who you believe me to be, Gladiolus.”

Gladio can’t help himself—he laughs, though it’s quiet and hot like an ember floating on the wind. “Are you Ignis, hedge witch and owner of Botanica Magica?”

Ignis inhales loudly enough for Gladio to hear before speaking, sharp and quick. “I am… however, I haven’t always been. Prior to my tenure as a shopkeep... I was once a soldier in the First Niflheim War.” The bump in Ignis’s throat rises and falls as he swallows hard.

Despite being a warrior, Gladio has a vested interest in history, and as the meaning of the words sinks in, he reaches a hand up and places his fingers beneath Ignis’s chin. “The _First_ Niflheim War?”

“Indeed.”

“So you’re… at least a hundred and ten years old.”

“One hundred and twenty six this year,” Ignis says in a near-whisper.

As answers go, perhaps it would have been earth shattering on their first date, or the second. Maybe it would set the world spinning, tipped it on its axis, had Gladio not come face to face with the fact that there was _far_ more magic present in the world than his earthshifting, magic beyond comprehension or study. Maybe if his intuition hadn’t already told him Ignis was wise beyond his years, that he carried an unfathomable weight in those swirling eyes, he’d be baffled. Maybe, had he not been under the most potent spell of them all—love—his response would have been different.

“I don’t care,” Gladio declares. When Ignis doesn’t respond, he says it again. “Iggy, I don’t _care_. We already knew our time was borrowed. This doesn’t change a thing.”

Ignis pulls him down into a kiss, and if Gladio had thought them intense before, it pales in comparison to this. Ignis pours all of the heart and soul he’d been holding back into the kiss, opening himself and his magic up to Gladio, tracing his plate with bold fingers and eliciting a powerful shudder from Gladio. Every empty space in the air fills with their union, thick and heady and wonderful.

“Brilliant,” Ignis declares, breathless. “Perfect.”

 _Brilliant_ describes each beat of Gladio’s heart as he maps out Ignis’s skin in its entirety, tracing forest green marks of power everywhere they lead. _Perfect_ describes the way Ignis completes him, their bodies melding as beautifully as their minds and magic have.

Brilliant.

_Perfect._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Kudos and comments mean the world to me. <3
> 
> [UnsteadyGenius](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsteadygenius) made a [GORGEOUS moodboard for this, which I encourage you to check out here](http://unsteadygenius.tumblr.com/post/176555005943/aliatori-has-an-amazing-fantasy-au-that-you-need) \- she really knocked the aesthetic out of the park!


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